Why so silent?

[away_from_all]

A tall, impossibly lean man steps into the mansion as silent as a ghost and moving just as fluidly. Long, elegant fingers are encased in black leather, the rest of him clothed in a black evening suit with an opera cape fastened around his skeletal shoulders

Comments

[gavehersoul]

Christine would know him no matter how silent and careful he is. She feels it. She feels him and she stills. Her eyes dart about the room and she holds herself some, lowering her eyes. Her voice lowers. "...Angel?"

[away_from_all]

Of course. Christine of all people would recognize him, his movements and natural grace. Even if she had not seen him.

The man's mind rages against itself, deciding whether or not to remain silent, speak, or lunge at the girl.

In the end, his draw to the girl wins out, though he slips as far back as possible into the shadows.

"Christine..." So many emotions in that one word, laced throughout a voice that could make angels weep at its beauty. Longing and loathing, love and hatred, admiration and envy, bliss and pain... All in one simple little word. The name of one simple little girl.

[gavehersoul]

"You're here." She looks to the shadows, wincing a little at the negative undertones in his voice, and she steps forward, just a bit. She's looking away again, deciding whether or not she should stay. She remains though.

"I doubt that you meant to come..."

[away_from_all]

It would be easier if she had run. No, not run... turned and walked away slowly, perhaps. Running would only cause him to break and hunt her down, like the animal he had become.

He nods from the shadows. "I am. I am everywhere, Christine." Though by now she ought to know better than that.

"You are right." The masked madman admits. "I did not mean to come. I do not know how I came."

[heartofbirds]

His face is carefully set, perfectly neutral. "Hello."

[away_from_all]

Had he been seen? Was that possible? He had been taken aback by the change in environment, had hesitated before concealing himself. Perhaps he had been seen then.

At the sound of a man's voice, the phantom sinks further into the shadows, only as noticable as ink upon black parchment. "Take heed, Monsieur, you know not to who you speak."

[heartofbirds]

"I frequently speak to people I don't know." He looks down at his hands, quietly. "I'm afraid it's rather inevitable."

[away_from_all]

"A very good way to find yourself in trouble, Monsieur." The masked figure in the shadows warns.

[as_a_rush]

Shivers, feeling the cold prickle of someone in the room. He freezes and resists the urge to cross himself.

[away_from_all]

Likely a wise choice. Not that it would help.

His faith had never save him, after all.

[as_a_rush]

He tries to dismiss his superstitious alarm, but it won't go.

"... Is it someone there?"

[away_from_all]

No answer. At least, not at first.

Erik is a man of many talents. Music, magic, murder, archetecture, carpentry, art... ventrilloquism.

Using this latter skill, the aparition sends his voice to the intruder's side and speaks in his same Irish accent, flawless though the speaker is of French decent; the man's greatest talents are with his voice, after all.

"Be gone." His voice now moves to the young Irishman's other side. "You are not welcomed here"

[englishgent]

David walks over to Erik, not at all phased by his appearance.

Good evening. Welcome to the mansion. I'm David.

[botticelliangel]

The shadows are familiar to Armand; he eyes the figure impassively, one eyebrow curving in a slow arch.

"Welcome, sir."